Hero Complex
by CasualHipster
Summary: "I - we need to keep her out of this, she's fragile enough as is. If she knows, she's in danger, and if she's in danger from the things we're running from I can't protect her. I can't keep her safe." "Stiles -" "Listen, ever since this supernatural crap started, I've been helpless. I'm only human, Scott, and for once that's all someone needs me to be." StilesOC
1. Chapter 1

**Hello and welcome!**

**First and foremost, a warning/spoiler. This story will feature intense and mature content such as self harm, eating disorders, etc. It will not be graphic, but will be thoroughly explored from the psychological stand point.**

**Second, as far as time line goes, I'm not entirely sure when this is going to be taking place. As of right now, it's more than likely the beginning of 3A.**

**Anyway, onward and enjoy! Review, critique, let me know what I'm doing right and wrong!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).**

"It's not that I don't think it's completely ridiculous, I'm just asking you to consider it as a possibility."

"I think all of this supernatural stuff has finally gotten to you, Stiles."

"EXACTLY. A year ago you would have completely blown off even the _chance _of half the crap we've seen being real, Scott. To be honest, I'm surprised you'd count out anything at this point."

"So what exactly are you saying?"

"Alright, imagine this –." Long, dark wavy hair. "Uh..." Green eyes. "I just..." Rosy cheeks.

"Hello?" Scott snapped his fingers in his friends face as he scrambled to hold on to his thought process. "Stiles? Earth to Stiles! You in there buddy?"

Stiles shook his head snapping his focus back to Scott. "Uh yeah," he mumbled, raking his hands through his hair, centering his mind again, "I just thought I saw Em."

"C'mon dude, I thought you were past that. I need you to be focused, and that means realizing she's probably got it much better at this fancy school. You've got to let it go."

Stiles thought back to the last time he'd seen his friend. They'd just started school as Freshman at Beacon Hills High, but they'd known each other as as he'd known Scott, which was pretty much forever. His mom used to call them the Three Musketeers, Emmalyn had been hell bent her entire childhood to be treated equally by the boys. Anything from how high they could climb a tree to how fast they could eat dinner, she didn't want to be underestimated. Then, one day, nothing. She vanished in a cloud of smoke. Her father had told the boys she'd gotten an offer to attend a great technical high school, one she couldn't refuse. They hadn't heard from her since.

"I'm insulted! Out of everyone, I'm the one that's always there to handcuff your wrists to radiators...that sounded so much worse out loud than it did in my head."

"You sure you're feeling OK?"

"I may or may not have forgotten to take my adderall when I ran out of the house this morning. Don't worry, I'll hit the nurses office and grab my back-up. I'm fine...seriously."

In all reality, he wasn't. Emmalyn's disappearance ranked right up there with Bigfoot as far as unsolved mysteries go. Her running off had always confused him, it just never seemed like something she would do, to just pick up and leave Scott and himself in the dust. His hands flew above his head like the sky was falling when the warning bell rang. He let out a disgruntled huff as he picked the papers that flew from his hands in his episode off of the floor, Coach had never been, and never would be a morning person.

oOo

"Ms. Richards? Your paperwork and transcript have finished processing."

A petite brunette across the room lifted her head up, tucking a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. Her frame was slight, pale green eyes wide with anxiety. She made her way across the room, gingerly reaching out for the maroon folder in the receptionists hands.

"This will have most everything you need to make your transition here at Beacon Hills High an easy one. I've taken the liberty of highlighting the locations of each of your classes, as well as your locker and Ms. Morrell's office."

The girl looked up at the elder woman, an eyebrow cocked slightly in confusion. She leaned forward and continued in a hushed tone.

"Ms. Richards, I know that you've certainly been through more trials at your young age than you should have, but please be mindful that regular sessions with Ms. Morrell were a requirement of your discharge. You've got a free block after lunch, that's when we have set aside time for you to see her, every day. At least for your transition. We'll see how things go and if Ms. Morrell sees it fit, we'll pull back on how frequently you need to see her."

The woman looked down and grimaced slightly, seeing the girl leaving behind bright red scratch marks on her forearm. When she noticed, her jaw clenched as she pulled her sleeves back down, refusing to make any further eye contact. The air was thick with awkward tension until the principal came tumbling out of his office.

"Ah, Emmalyn isn't it? I trust you've gotten all of your paperwork with no speed bumps?"

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin, suppressive line.

"Excellent. I've taken the liberty of also including a schedule for our lacrosse team in the hopes you'd join the ranks and show some team spirit!"

She hadn't forgotten how important lacrosse was to this town in her time away. Growing up, joining the team was all she would ever hear about from some of her friends. Fidgeting slightly and rubbing her opposite shoulder, she silently hoped that he wouldn't continue his social hour much longer.

"Well, best see you off to class then. We've already told your first teacher to expect you a few minutes late. He shouldn't give you...much of a hassle. And Emeline, if I may ask, what brought you back to Beacon Hills."

Grateful that the entire world didn't know her business, her answer was short, voice scratchy and meek, "It was time to come home."

Emmalyn readjusted her textbooks in her arms as she struggled to find a more comfortable position for her bag on her shoulder. She'd had no trouble finding her locker, but underestimated just how many things she would be carrying throughout the day. Fumbling through her folder from the office, she finally managed to find her daily schedule, a grimace lining her face when she saw she would have the unfortunate pleasure of starting every day with Economics. She wondered to herself if Coach Finstock was still the one teaching it, silently praying that if that were the case, that he wouldn't make much of a fuss upon her arrival. The map was a kind gesture, but overall an unnecessary one. Beacon Hills was one of those towns that once you knew your way around, you always would. It had a way of never changing, and the high school was no exception to that rule. The closer she got to class, the clearer Coach's bellowing insults got.

"Alright you hooligans, pipe down! You've had all summer to flap your jaws at each other, now it's my turn. Hey! Attention, _now_. I'm looking at you, Greenburg! We've got a returning student with us today. I, for one, have no idea why _anyone_ would come back to you knuckle draggers, but my therapist says my unhinged anger towards all of you and receding hairline are some kind of mid-life crisis. I'm sure you'll all do well to welcome back Emmalyn Richards." Coach waved me into the room frantically, "Good luck with these ones, I sure has hell wouldn't have come back."

Emmalyn slid into the room, hoping to go as unnoticed as possible while she tugged her thick knit cardigan tighter around her slight frame. Her breathing was shallow, an attempt to tame the incessant desire to toss what little breakfast she had eaten. Her light eyes traced the floor tiles, only glancing up long enough to locate the nearest empty seat to the door, but long enough to give her away. Shoulders cringing upward, the sound of scraping metal rang through her ears a someone scrambled out of their seat.

_Stiles,_ she thought to herself as her eyes landed on the same warm nutmeg ones she'd known her entire childhood. Taking advantage of his lead feet, Emmalyn quickly ducked into the desk she'd hide in for the rest of the semester. She sat there, eyes wide and boring holes into the back of whomever was in front of her. _This wasn't the plan,_ she told herself as anxiety began to peak in her chest,_ I wasn't supposed to see him, to see _either_ of them this soon. Too soon...too soon._ Squeezing her eyes shut, she began counting down from ten in an attempt to calm herself and avoid the awkward gaze from Stiles across the room. She hadn't heard from her best friend in nearly two years, she wasn't ready to change that quite yet.

When she opened her eyes, she sank deeper into seat seeing that Stiles was still staring dumbfounded at her. Managing a look of sheer desperation in Coach's direction, she'd hoped he would put an end to her misery. A request to which he happily obliged.

"Stilinski! For the love of god, it's a miracle that I can handle your usual level of social ineptitude. Sit down!"

"Huh?"

Finstock walked over to Stiles' desk, slamming his hands down in front of him.

"See this vein here in my forehead, Stilinski? This is what happens every time you're within shouting distance from swallowing my desire to _strangle_ you!"

"Coach, that's like...all the time."

He shoved his index finger into Stiles' forehead, "_Exactly._ So sit down!"

Stiles grabbed blindly for his chair and slapped Scott's shoulder on the way down.

"Scott!" he demanded in a hushed whisper, "What did I freaking tell you!"

"OK, you were right about seeing her but I don't know dude, she didn't seem too excited to see you."

"Man, you've got no idea what you're talking about. She's my best friend, _our _best friend!"

Scott shook his head defiantly, "Werewolf senses don't lie."

"That doesn't even make sense, your radar must be broken or something."

Scott shrugged, defeated. Tapping the end of his pencil harshly on his desk, Stiles couldn't help but keep glancing in her direction throughout the class. Scott didn't know the Emmalyn that he did. When he would leave town to see his dad, she and Stiles were practically inseparable. She knew him like he knew the back of his own hand.

Eventually their eyes met in one of his passing glances and he awkwardly waved to her. Her body went rigid and the eye contact broke as easily as it began, and Stiles couldn't help but wonder, did she really want to avoid him? The smile that had been on his face since the beginning of class had fallen and shattered on the ground. His right leg began to bounce nervously and he regretted not stopping by the nurse before class for his adderall. Chewing on his pencil, he began to mull over any and all reasons she may not want to talk to him in his head. He had always written to her. Even when she hadn't written back, he always did his best to keep her up to date on himself and Scott.

_Oh god,_ he thought, _what if that's it? What if she had been ignoring me and I hadn't taken the hint? What if she thinks I'm some crazy weirdo now?_

If the desire to talk to her hadn't been strong enough before, he _had _to talk to her now. Convince her that he wasn't some kind of stalker or something. When the bell rang, he lunged for the door just as fast as she did.

She had to get out, a conversation with Stiles was not one she was willing to have right then. Two years was a long to time to just pick up like nothing had happened. Especially when plenty did. Plenty of things that she went through, alone. No crutch, no so called friends, just herself to depend on. It had been years since they had spoken, it hurt her just to be in the same class as him. Her breathing became slightly labored as her skin began to crawl, the sudden sensation of being suffocated by her clothing overtaking her senses. She couldn't be there right now, so she ran.

"Em! Hey, Emma, it's Stiles! Wait!" He muttered apologies to the students he ran into in his pursuit of her while she did her best to merge with the sea of classmates.

His pleas for her attention began to die off the further she got down the hallway. She couldn't handle this. Her first day back was already so much more stressful than she anticipated it being, which was really saying something considering getting out of bed each day was enough of a stress for her to be medicated.

She began clawing at her forearms again, desperately trying to scratch away her overwhelming desire to be normal. She would never be normal again, never be the Em he once knew. He couldn't see the monster she had become.


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, second chapter down. I'm pretty much 100% on this story taking place at the beginning of 3A, though it won't be too involved with the storyline until I finish laying the bases.**

**Anyway, onward and enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).**

As Emmalyn weaseled her way through the rushing crowd of teenagers, she began to grind her teeth together as an all too familiar feeling began to set in. The walls of the hallway felt like they were chasing her as her vision began to tunnel and twist. Stopping dead in her tracks and squeezing her eyes shut, she attempted to calm herself down from what was nearing a hyperventilative state, but her concentration was continuously broken by the pushes and shoves of the other students trying to beat the bell to their next class. Her nails dug into her upper arms as she clutched her books tighter to herself trying to drown out the commotion around her.

_Ten..nine..eight..seven...six...five..._another passing shoulder brushing against hers. She knew that she would never be able to calm herself down with all of the commotion around her. Her small feet carried her as fast and as steadily as they could, wide, tear filled eyes searching desperately for somewhere to hide. Every time someone ran into her, she would flinch away, her breath hitching in a way that was sure to pave the way for a complete meltdown.

"Hey," a tenor called out to her, laying a firm hand on her shoulder, "you OK?"

Emmalyn whipped around, only to bolt in the opposite direction when yet another familiar face met her own.

_Too many people..too soon. This was a terrible idea, I should have listened. I should have..._ She ran into a wide chest that bellowed after with a 'watch where you're going' as she dashed around the corner and found refuge in the bathroom.

Throwing open the door to the handicap stall and swiftly locking it shut, she sunk to the floor and attempted to ease her labored breathing. Reaching for a bottle of water in her bag, she tried to drink it, hoping that it would make her hold her breath long enough to calm her down, but cried out in desperation and tossed it half full to the side when she was met with a fit of sputtering and choked on the drink.

_Concentrate...just concentrate. You can do this, _she told herself in half hearted promises, and what seemed like hours later, her breathing finally calmed down to a normal rate.

Tossing her head back against the cold tile wall, teary eyes wandered their way to the back of the stall. She was already late for her next class, a few more minutes wouldn't make much of a difference if it helped her get through the rest of the day.

oOo

Emerging from the bathroom stall half an hour after she had initially stumbled in, she dragged her bag behind her as she made her way to the sink.

"Keep calm, keep out of stressful situations, keep to yourself," she told herself like a broken record, eying her own reflection. She looked her face over, scrutinizing her own makeup job. Over time, she had learned to hide things, but it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough. Gripping the edges of the sink and recollecting her thoughts, she looked back up to her reflection, only to be confronted by who she had been a year ago. Shaking her head and checking again, she once again found the public version of herself, she one she used to hide from prying eyes. This was who she was to the world now, no one had to know.

Taking her time to maintain her composure, she slowly made her way to her French class, grimacing when she realized she would have to see Ms. Morrell more than just her scheduled time with her. She approached the desk, holding her shoulders high in an attempt to shrink away from view.

"I got lost," was the best answer she was able to offer her, knowing that even Ms. Morrell knew it was a complete lie. Her teacher's shoulders fell in defeat at her answer, a sigh of disappointment tracing her lips as sh motioned to the only empty seat left in the room.

Emmalyn turned for her seat and wondered to herself if the world was out to get her that day. Had her father put them up to this? It all seemed just too perfectly formulated when she noticed who occupied the seat in front of her.

_Keep your head down, keep quiet. _She could only hope this block would go by without incident, but she knew she wouldn't be that fortunate.

"Do I know you?"

She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise to the slightly shrill sound of Lydia Martin's voice.

_Ignore her._

"You used to go to school here, right? Did we have classes together? We must have, I don't usually remember unimportant faces."

_Tell her. Yell at her. _Scream _at her. Remind her just how miserable she made your life, how she would taunt you relentlessly. Give her a taste of her own medicine. Call her all of the names she used to push you over the edge._

She could feel the searing look of Lydia's scrupulous gaze, not missing a thing.

_Say something, throw her off balance. She's just gathering cannon fodder. She'll come after you again._

"Hm, maybe not. Anyway, cute shoes."

Just like that the most harmless confrontation she'd ever had with Lydia was over. Was it even a confrontation if she had just complimented her? Or was she trying to throw her off her game? No, she knew exactly who she was. She waiting. Calculating. Planning out her down fall like the cold hearted snake she'd always been. Mapping out her social demise just like she had when high school had begun.

They had been friends once, but that seemed like a lifetime ago to Emmalyn now. The second their freshman year had begun, Lydia Martin turned her life into a living hell, making sure that every move she made was social she escalated to Queen Bee status by what ever means necessary, anyone that she'd formally socialized with was left in the dust, years of friendship used as a means to undermine and decimate.

_"She's always wanted to be me. Why do you think she lost all of that weight? Don't believe for a _second_ that it was done naturally."_

Emmalyn shook the memory from her head, not willing to fall back down that path so easily. She'd always been a bit heavier for her size growing up, and when she and Lydia dreamt about their 'fresh start' at the beginning of freshman year, she had insisted that now was the time to drop the pounds. She created a regimented diet and exercise plan, insuring Emmalyn that it would work, that it was how everyone else did it, but soon a month had passed and there were no results to be seen. Next came the pills and another assurance that it was what everyone did. Lydia was her friend, why would he lie to her? She began to exercise more and more, all the while eating less and less, and by the end of summer break she had lost an unprecedented twenty pounds. The two girls reveled in her success, gathering a whole new wardrobe filled with clothes she wasn't entirely comfortable with wearing. Again Lydia reassured her, promising no one would be able to keep their eyes off of her.

_"I mean, do you see what she's wearing? Try hard much?"_

The ghost of their mocking laughter rang through her ears, taking her back to the beginning of her downward spiral. No matter where she went she could hear someone whispering about her.

_"Did you hear she's bulimic?"_

_ "I heard she's a tweaker."_

"_I swear she cuts herself."_

_ "She only does it for attention."_

Little by little the person who she had been for the last fourteen years of her life began to fade away, crumbling to societal pressures her teenage self confidence was too weak to withstand. She withdrew from her friends, abandoned her extra curriculars, entirely isolated herself. She ignored any and all attempts to reach her. Measure, weigh, exercise, repeat. The taunts and name calling fell on deaf ears so long as she was satisfied with her progress. When she wasn't, she would punish herself. Less eating, more exercising. The near constant rumble of hunger in her gut made her feel empowered in a new world where everything else had slipped from her grasp, the sight of her shrinking frame making her happy in a way she hadn't been since the rumors began. She held on to this new found sense of control with an iron grip, hiding her progress from her father. For the most part he was usually away of business trips, so any change would have been an obvious one no matter how oblivious he was. She would wear her now larger, older clothes when he was home, maintaining the facade of the daughter he thought he still knew. Eventually she got careless, reckless even, pushing herself to go longer periods of time without eating, and with her poor decisions came the one that landed her locked away. Those demons nagged at the back of her mind to this day, but she was bound and determined to recreate some semblance of the life she'd once had, no matter how skewed it had become.

**Alright, let me know what you think! I know you sneakies who are subscribing to the story have something to say, so praise, critique, correct...say hello! Let me know how you're feeling about the story thus far and where you're excited to see it go!**


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).**

Stiles huffed, slamming his lacrosse locker shut. He'd spent his lunch period and every break between classes roaming the halls, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. Suffice to say, he hadn't been so lucky. He was starting to believe she really had been avoiding him, had his letters been that bad? Growing up they'd told each other everything. Scott and Emmalyn had both been there for him when his mom died, but she had been the only one to really get through to him. She'd supported him on an emotional level that no one else had been able to reach, always reminding him of the years worth of memories he had with her.

Suddenly he was overcome with the same familiar sense of guilt that washed over him every time he thought back to that. His mother had always treated Emmalyn like her own, and in return was treated like her mom since she never knew her own. She'd stroked out in child birth, something about a bleed in her brain. He groaned as he rubbed his temples, his problems seeming petty and selfish in comparison.

"Any luck getting a hold of her?" Scott asked, opening the locker next to his.

Stiles' mouth turned down in a recognizable sign of defeat, "Nah, man. I just don't get it. I mean, I looked _everywhere_ for her. Do you really think she's avoiding us?"

Inhaling deeply, Scott turned to his friend, "What do you want me to tell you, Stiles? That things are going to go right back to where they were two years ago?"

"Scott...what are you talking about, back? When did it stop?"

"Exactly. I mean that you aren't exactly the best at taking hints. Like do you really think that at the end of your '15 Year Plan' you and Lydia are just going to run off into the sunset? She hasn't written back the entire time she's been gone."

Stiles' brow furrowed into a light scowl. "Low blow, Scott. The Lydia situation is different and entirely beside the point. This isn't some girl I'm asking to prom, this is Emma. You know, thick as thieves, the Three Musketeers, all of those spit handshakes, and that one, _really _gross blood one that got my hand all infected?"

"Yeah, don't remind me about that one." Melissa had chewed the three of them out for that one.

"Good, then I won't have to remind you for a _third_ time today that this. is. _Emma _we're talking about!"

"I just...remember how weird she got right before she left? You don't think maybe she was trying to cut us out?"

"No way in hell, Scott. We'll see her again in the morning, maybe she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Scott placed a wary hand on his insistent friend's shoulder, passing him a look of mild concern. "Maybe you should give her some space. It's probably hard on her to be changing schools in the middle of high school. She'll probably warm up once she readjusts."

He knew he was lying to Stiles, just like he knew his friend was clutching at straws, struggling to find a sense of normalcy in their backward, supernatural world. Scott was worried for him, because no matter how much he tried to deny it, there was no arguing with his keen, werewolf senses.

"Yeah, I guess I never thought of it that way. It was probably just as hard for her to move the first time, and her course load was probably pretty intense. Maybe things just got away from her."

"Where did she even go?"

"I don't know, her dad never really said. Some genius technical school to help 'shape her future'," he air quoted, shrugging it off.

Scott decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut for now, there was no way Stiles would listen to him right then. He wouldn't listen to how her heart rate nearly doubled when she saw him and every time she'd caught him staring, how her brow and the back of her neck broke out into a nervous sweat. He wouldn't want to hear about the tremors in her shallow breaths or the scratch of her dry throat whenever she tried to swallow and stomach the anxiety bubbling in her chest. It rolled off of her in waves the entire class, spreading in a thick cloud that left Scott repeatedly clicking his pen under its influence. He wouldn't tell him about how she would plead under her breath for him to stop staring at her. No, he'd keep it to himself for now. They had practice to focus on.

"Scott," Stiles whispered trying to grab his friend's attention, "I know you're just trying to get me to shut up."

Scott looked back to Stiles, abandoning the new lacing he'd started on his lacrosse stick. When he saw the somber look in his friend's eyes, the weight of his recent lie crippled his chest.

"Stiles, I – "

"Don't lie to me, Scott. With all the crap we're in, all the crap we've _been _in, we can't keep secrets anymore."

"Just...give it time. Time and some space never hurt anything, except maybe my relationship with Alli – you know what? No. Don't listen to me. Just let her come to you."

"So, if I'm _not_ listening to you, I _should _keep trying to talk to her?" Stiles scoffed with a toothy grin.

Blinking a couple of times, Scott realized he'd just talked a circle around himself. He punched Stiles lightly in the arm and laughed it off.

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, my arm," Stiles feigned, "Abuse! I'm being abused!"

Another punch in the arm.

"Ow, alright I get it. Ah!" Stiles shielded himself against fake outs from Scott's lacrosse stick.

"Stilinski! McCall! Once you two decide who wears the skirt, think you might join the rest of us on the field?"

The two spun around to face Coach Finstock, sputtering out a few half-baked explanations each.

"TODAY!"

"Yes, Coach!"

"You betcha, Coach."

The boys scrambled out toward the field, tossing yellow pinnies over their lacrosse pads as they joined the team for a practice scrimmage.

oOo

The rest of the day proved to be far less stressful than the first half for Emmalyn, not recognizing many faces in the rest of her classes. The ones she did know didn't know her, so shrinking into the back of each class was a much less distressing task. Finding her best chance of avoiding certain people to be spending as little time as possible in the hallways, she resolved to compress down to one multi-subject notebook. The weight of multiple textbooks wouldn't seem like much after time, she hoped. She could lie to her teacher, say her appointments with Ms. Morrell were during lunch so she could get to the cafeteria early and disappear before the crowds arrived. Every move would be calculated and executed with precision. She would remember to park as close to the entrance of the parking lot as possible to avoid being visible in exiting traffic. It wasn't something she'd thought of this morning, so she opted the wait out the rush tucked away in a stairwell. Were she to repeat that mistake, she'd choose a different one, having almost been trampled by the lacrosse team on their way out to the field.

The facade fell when she found the safety of her own home. The trendy clothes were replaced with a baggy pair of sweats and an over sized t-shirt, contacts out for glasses, her painted face for her natural one. She looked up at herself in the bathroom mirror, face still wet from washing it clean. Her father wasn't home and wouldn't be until she was long asleep, so no sense in hiding. She was, in all reality, unchanged from the person she had been at her worst. That person was foolish, she was careless and got caught. This version of herself knew what to hide and how to hide it. She knew how to disguise the broken, swollen eyes that sunk back into her head rimmed with large dark circles, how to highlight her razor sharp features and hollowed cheeks, how to liven up her pale and blemished complexion. Chapped lips and a damaged smile hid behind gloss, pronounced collar bones and protruding shoulders cloaked with thick knit sweaters. Her thin neck was laced with red trails from where she had raked her nails across, trying to scratch away her imperfections, but it was dusted away with a layer of powder. Lack luster, unkempt hair was treated with expensive product and tucked back in fashionable up-do's. She had bruises trailing up her arms and legs from trashing during episodes, her body showing its wear more and more every day as it struggled to hold itself together, but she just minded her hemlines. This was who she was, who she hid from the prying eyes of the same people that did this to her. This was their fault, but it was her problem now. Her life. She was in control.

**Alright, let me know what you think! I know you sneakies who are subscribing to the story have something to say, so praise, critique, correct...say hello! Let me know how you're feeling about the story thus far and where you're excited to see it go!**


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).**

She had gotten getting to class down to a science. Getting to Ecom right as the bell rang meant being able to avoid awkward confrontations, being early to French guaranteed a corner seat as far as humanly possible from Lydia Martin, and English had worked well enough to land her on the opposite side of the room from Lydia, Scott, and Stiles. Sticking to the walls in the hallway kept her from being trampled and jostled around too much, but the stress from being around so many people so frequently had yet to subside. The library turned out to be a quiet and solitary place to spend lunch, so time there was generally spent catching her breath. It'd been a long time since Emmalyn had been in such a public place, the constant rush was jarring and typically shook her too much to make her scheduled appointments with Ms. Morrell. Day to day she would get the same passively disapproving look from her, having her as a teacher made it difficult to justify why she hadn't stopped by yet. Ms. Morrell knew their appointments were mandatory but kept quiet, so Emmalyn just counted her blessings.

Over the past week the 'new girl' hype had dwindled down to a light buzz. Stiles had let her be after the first day, resorting to quick, two-fingered waves when she ducked into class. Every day that passed without someone recognizing her caused a sense of relief, but she wasn't out of the dark yet. So long as she lived in Beacon Hills, she'd always be in it.

oOo

Lydia sat at the lunch table mindlessly pushing her salad around with a fork, opting to chew on the question she'd been choking back for the past few days instead. She hadn't meant to act like she had toward Emmalyn, she knew exactly who she was. They had been good friends once, but that was a long time ago. Seeing her again made her shrink back into her facade, not willing to face the troubles she'd caused. Lydia knew pretending like nothing had happened wouldn't fix things, to be honest she didn't know if anything would.

"Could you two maybe act your age for like, five seconds?" She snapped at the boys, catching Stiles mid-fling of a spoonful of peas in Scott's direction.

"Lydia?" Allison asked, reaching for her friends arm, "Are you OK?"

She hissed when Allison's hand landed on her bruised forearm, still a rich purple color from being grabbed the previous week,

"Oh I don't know, once you look past the glaringly obvious fact that you idiots are about to get your little werewolf asses handed to you by a freaking _pack_ of Alphas," Lydia fired a look off at both Scott and Issac before she continued, "or maybe the brutal murders that are apparently an entirely different problem the we know absolutely _nothing_ about – oh, and let's not forget how Peter manipulated me into bringing him back from the dead and destroyed my life with no repercussions _what-so-ever_? Then there's the fact that I'm magically finding dead people all across Beacon Hills with no memory of getting to them. Nooo, I'm fine. Just. _Peachy_."

That look, the same look she'd gotten from everyone since the attack last year. Pity.

"Lydia, I –"

"Forget it, Scott." Lydia cleared her throat and tossed her hair over her shoulder, "Anyway, anyone talked to Emmalyn?"

"Emmalyn?"

"Wait, have _you_ talked to her?" Stiles asked, choking on his soda.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at Stiles, unsure of how carefully she'd need to tread around the subject, "We've been in each others classes since kindergarten. Besides, we have French and English together."

"Wait, guys who's –"

"Emmalyn, Allison. She sits by the door in Ms. Blake's class," Stiles rambled out. "She doesn't talk to anyone in English though, did she say something in French? Like, at all? We're talking a sentence, a homework answer. Did she even say hello?"

"Whoa, slow your roll there, lover boy. I tried the first day, she's sat on the other side of the room from me ever since."

"Well did you say something to piss her off?"

"_Excuse_ me. All I said to Ms. Sensitive was that she had cute shoes." Lydia knew that wasn't the whole truth. Sure, she'd told her she liked her shoes, but it was more about what she didn't say. There was no heartfelt apology or asking how she'd been. There should have been, but she tripped over herself at the finish line. "Whatever, she's probably just being cautious. I would be too if I'd gone through everything she had."

Stiles' head jerked back toward the strawberry-blonde, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Stiles, she was bullied mercilessly, where were you?"

He thought back to the beginning of freshman year, her abrupt withdrawal beginning to make sense.

"And you didn't do anything? Lydia, that's awful."

"Oh spare me, Allison. You didn't even know who she was a minute ago. Besides, I was an entirely different person back then, just a young, impressionable girl swept away by the empty promise of popularity. I stopped caring about a lot of the things I used to."

"I have to find her," Stiles said, throwing his hands down on the lunch table.

"What happened to letting her –"

"I'm done waiting, Scott, because every minute, every _second_ I waste is another she's left thinking we abandoned her. She pulled away from us and we were too stupid to see why. Em needed us and we weren't there for her."

Scott's brow furrowed as he glared holes through the table, his hand shooting out to grab Stiles' shoulder as he stood to leave. He sighed in defeat when he saw the look in his friend's eyes.

"We'll find her faster if it's the two of us. I'll track her down."

oOo

The library had been quiet as usual, only filled with academiacs since the more social students had filtered out at the beginning of lunch. Emmalyn had spent most of her time pretending to scan through the rows of books in an effort to hide her pacing. She'd resolved to try and make her appointment with Ms. Morrell today, but that was easier said than done. The better half of the last half hour was used trying to work up the confidence to even get to the guidance office, talking would probably have to wait for another day. Eying the clock, she knew that her window of opportunity was closing, soon the newly energized student body would rush back into the halls.

She took a deep breath and counted back from ten, preparing to leave her comfort zone. She didn't want to do this, but she definitely didn't want to go back. Even if that meant just showing up for her daily session, she would do it.

Looking both ways down the empty hallway, she left the library and headed toward the guidance office. She wanted more than anything to turn back and hide, to duck into the nearest bathroom and wait out the rest of the school day, but she knew that she couldn't spend the next two years hiding in a bathroom stall. Sooner or later, she would have to strengthen her resolve, and this was her first step. That is, until she heard the squeak of rubber soles down the hallway and her breath hitched in her throat.

_Keep calm, keep walking. They'll walk right past you._

"Emma!"

Stiles.

_Just ignore him, keep your head down. He'll give up eventually._

"Em, just give me a second to talk to you. _Please._"

She picked up her pace.

"Mouse, please."

Her feet stopped moving, the walls closing in on her. She squeezed her eyes shut as the hall in front of her began to twist, making her stomach drop. He and Scott had started calling her Mouse when they were seven. She'd seen one scurry across the floor in the McCall's kitchen and let out a high pitched yelp when she jumped up onto a chair. The two of them had never let her live it down. Before she could keep moving, she felt a hand fall on her shoulder and she crumbled.

When she turned around and looked up to him, he felt a break, a blow to the chest. There she was in front of him after two years, crying. Crying because he hadn't been the friend he always promised he would be, the kind that would be there for her. He'd let her go through it all alone and now she was just staring at him with red eyes and tear stained cheeks.

"Well?" She scowled through her wracked emotions.

The distance had hurt, but the feeling of abandonment hurt more.

He looked at her wide eyed, dragging his hand across his scalp and grabbing the nape of his neck. All of this time wondering, imagining her coming back and the best he could manage edge wise was just letting his mouth hang open like a fool.

"I just, uh –"

Emmalyn's shoulders tucked closer to her before she wiped her cheeks on her sleeve and turned to walk away. His feet felt like lead as he realized what was quite possibly his only chance to try and make things right was slipping away from him. He looked back to Scott who gave him a silent push to go after her again, and he knew that it was now or never. Stiles might not have been able to piece his words together, but he knew what he could do. He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and pulled her into a hug. She froze as she met his chest, and he took his only opportunity.

"Listen, Em, I know you probably hate the both of us right now, but you've got to listen to me. Me and Scott, we had no idea what was going on with you, and when I say no idea I mean we thought you just didn't want to be friends with us any more. I – we are so sorry that we didn't see it, that we weren't there for you like we said we would be. I literally can't even imagine everything that you went through, but please believe me when I tell you we weren't a part of any of it. God, you probably thought all those letters we wrote were us harassing you or something, but we would _never_ do that to you. Just, please, tell me what I can do to make you believe me."

Emmalyn listened to him ramble on like he always did when he wasn't quite sure what to say. She didn't know what she would say when she pulled away, but for then, for that moment she just stood there and listened to him. He smelt like fresh earth and pine, it reminded her of all the time the three of them spent running through the preserve as kids. It reminded her of home, and no matter how foreign his arms felt, they still felt like home. In that moment, she didn't care about her appointment with Ms. Morrell or the students that were beginning to trickle into the hall. Every racing thought and insecurity fell to the back of her mind, her breathing steadied, and time stood still – until she felt Stiles pull back a bit.

"Em? Did – did you hear anything I just said?"

oOo

Scott hung back around the corner, letting the two have their moment. As much as he wanted to be right there, to apologize to the friend he'd known since they were in diapers, he couldn't bring himself to be near her. Something wasn't right. He didn't know what the feeling he got from her was, but he knew it wasn't good.

**A/N: Alright, let me know what you guys think! You know the drill: praise, critique, any and all reviews welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Wow, talk about a response to that last chapter! I was so happy to hear from the lot of you. A lot of you seem to be expressing some Lydia concerns, so let me offer the best explanation I can for now.**

**1. No, Lydia will not be a mean character. I quite like the way her character has evolved, so I'm keeping it as canon as possible.  
2. Unfortunately for you Stydia folks, this story is not where you'll find it. My OC will be inserted at key points to alter that, but that doesn't mean that Stiles' and Lydia's dynamic will be entirely altered. They'll stay close, and sometimes complicated, friends. We'll have to see where the rest of 3B goes to discern that!**

**Also! I took to rewatching the entire series to get my timelines correct and realized I made an oops with the lacrosse locker room scene, considering they're supposed to be running track now. I like the way that scene ended up so I'm not going back and changing it, instead I offer a campy explanation for it in this chapter.**

**Bear in mind, 3A happens so fast that it seems to only take a few weeks. In reality its about two months so I'm doing to best to reasonably spread out that timeline. This chapter happens collectively over the second, third, and a bit of the fourth week of school.**

******DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).**

"Come to my place at nine and plan to stay the night. I like to cuddle," Danny smirked, shutting his gym locker.

Stiles looked between Danny and Scott in shock, "That was so sweet, are you kidding?"

"Yes," he deadpanned, "I'm kidding!"

"You know, you don't toy with a guys emotions like that, Danny. It's not attractive, alright?"

"Mr. Lahey, happy to have you back. _Not_ happy that you're late," Coach scolded as Issac brushed past into the locker room.

"Sorry, Coach." It was the best he had to offer considering the new threat of the Alpha pack was winning out in terms of importance.

"Alright ya yahoos, listen up. Our little 'friendship' scrimage with the Beavers last week was so profoundly disappointing I'm suddenly reconsidering my already questionable dedication to being a high school coach. We set up that match to make sure our teams didn't turn into a bunch of cream puffs over the summer, and to be honest I'm no longer sure if this is a locker room or a damn pastry shop! That being said, I'll remind you all cross country is _not _optional for lacrosse players. I don't need you turning into a bunch of fat-asses in the off season so...work on that."

Stiles grumbled at Danny's sarcasm towards his plight while he laced up his sneakers.

"Danny was just joking, dude. Besides, didn't he tell you last year you're not his type?"

"Scott, do you not realize that my life is at _least _90% in danger every second? I mean, how many more teen virgins could Beacon Hills have stockpiled, huh?"

"I'm sure you're just over thinking it, and we don't even know that this guy is dead yet, let alone if he was a virgin."

"It's called an archetype, Scott. A pattern, a series of qualifying features that each murder will always go after. People like this don't just pick a different poison for no reason. There's got to be something, some kind of connecting thread and right now all we've got is that the first three were virgins."

"You really need to stop reading your dad's case files."

"Well maybe he should stop falling asleep on the kitchen table with them open." Stiles knew it rang at least somewhat true though. Growing up in a squad car had taught him a handful of things, the most useful of which being finding the pattern. Sarcasm and his analytical mind were the only super powers he had in a town where it felt like every other person wasn't as they seemed. "Or, maybe if there wasn't someone always trying to _kill_ us I wouldn't have to find a reason why."

oOo

"Tell me what I can do to help, Emmalyn. You've been coming in this entire week but you've barely said two words. What do you need for me?"

Chewing at the inside of her cheek and scratching her forearm, Emmalyn thought back to her encounter with Stiles the previous week.

_ "Em? Did – did you hear anything I just said?"_

_ She stood there staring at her feet for a moment while trying to reign in her thoughts. What was she doing? One second she was avoiding them entirely, the next she was burying a monumental hatchet without even a second thought. Could she trust him, believe that only a colossal misunderstanding had befallen both him and Scott? If she let them back in, could she keep her skeletons from toppling out of the closet?_

_ "What can you do?" she questioned, not entirely sure of the answer herself._

_ "Anything, Em. Whatever you need from me I'll do it, just – help me out. I'm seriously trying my best here, but I don't know what to do."_

"Time."

"Time?"

She nodded curtly to Ms. Morrell before gathering her books and leaving for English.

"Emmalyn?" the older woman called out to her just as she reached the door. "I know these things can take time, but don't let the time that you have run out."

Therapists, or in this case councilor, always seemed to have a knack for recognizing the intent behind things. Emmalyn was already uncomfortable in being there, and Ms. Morrell's ability to see things she didn't want her to made her skin crawl.

oOo

As the days passed, what Ms. Morrell had said to her that day weighed heavier on her shoulders. She knew she was being cautious, but was she sealing herself off? It was a question of comfort zones, more specifically where the edge of Emmalyn's lied. She had returned to Beacon Hills High without nearly as much turbulence as expected, given the minor rough patch her first day, she even occasionally spoke to Morrell about herself, something years worth of state funded therapy had failed to yield. In the mornings she would nod to Stiles as she took her seat in Coach's class, one time she'd even smiled. It was a tight lipped, twitch of a smile, but it was real. In the hallway she would sometimes wave gently to him and Scott as she passed. The two boys always seemed terribly preoccupied outside of class, but there wasn't a single passing glance or gesture that he missed.

Her days were filled with tiny victories, overcoming her social anxiety in miniscule steps usually taking the forefront of improvement. She had her moments, some worse than others, but the brighter ones were slowly starting to win out. For the first time in years Emmalyn felt like she was winning, like she was finally in control of more than just her body. The tiny waves of confidence bubbled under her skin, waning her fear of the unknown.

She was earlier than usual to Ms. Blake's class that day, and she felt an unfamiliar tickle at the base of her spine. It was her subconscious pushing her, demanding she take more responsibility for her life, so she did. Against all better judgment she walked straight past her usual seat by the door and headed for an empty one in the middle of the room. A tingle rose on the nape of her neck in anticipation while she waited for the rest of her classmates to arrive. She sat there patiently, watching namely for one particularly lanky and graceless boy. In all reality, she didn't even have to be looking to know he had gotten to class considering Stiles nearly fell face first over her old desk when he saw her sitting in front of his.

"Uh – hey, Em...what – what are you?"

Her breath hitched with the sudden realization she hadn't anticipated a response from him, feeling inklings of regret seeping into her pores as she floundered for an answer.

"Just trying to get closer." Stiles' head cocked back in shock at her answer and Emmalyn's cheeks lit up a fierce shade of red when she heard her own words fall from her mouth. "To the board," she tried to recover, "I mean, be-because I usually sit by the door. I...it's hard to see the notes."

She chewed on her lip as Stiles' nodded to her more reasonable explanation, unceremoniously dropping himself into his desk while she hid her new shade of crimson behind her hands.

When Ms. Blake arrived the class continued their discussion on 'Heart of Darkness', the first literature assignment of the semester. Stiles' hearing faded in and out during the lecture, his mind preoccupied with a myriad of distractions. After saving Boyd and Cora and dealing with the loss of Erica, Deucalion had delivered his ultimatum to Derek, a senior as well as the band teacher had been sacrificed, and Mr. Harris was missing, presumably the third and final sacrifice of the 'warrior' trio. Then there was Emmalyn, his entirely human problem. He laughed to himself, wondering when fighting werewolves and a Darach became more normal to him than dealing with regular people. He caught himself a couple times half way to tapping her shoulder, restraining himself from invading her space. She had asked for time, he owed her that much.

_Come on, focus, you know the pattern. Figure out what happens next._

He knew in the back of his mind though that he couldn't. While they had relative data points, Lydia had been right when she'd said they couldn't discern a pattern from a single circumstance. The next attack would be impossible to predict until the nature of it became more prevalent, he knew that even with their best efforts, that still meant the best they could do was save two of three in each set. One would always have to die in order to reveal which group was being targeted. The idea of necessary death churned his stomach.

"So," Ms. Blake's voice rang clear through his thought process, "who can tell me a little bit about madness and why it's a running theme throughout the book?" He watched her scan through the classroom looking for a volunteer. "Emmalyn, you seem like you're front and center ready to participate. How are you interpreting the theme of madness?"

Stiles could see her shrink down into her seat, gripping the edges of it so hard that her knuckles turned white. He knew she hadn't meant for this to happen, not once in the last month had she taken part in a class discussion.

"Emmalyn?" Ms. Blake asked again, hoping to garner a response. Before he even registered the words coming from his mouth he was spitting out an excuse to the expectant teacher.

"She can't talk, she's uh...she's got laryngitis. Yup, no talking. Doc's orders." She looked at him quizzically, he wasn't the only one to notice her lack of social prowess. "Well, uh...that's why she's sitting over here, so I can – give the answers for..her..?"

Ms. Blake didn't seem to trust the stammering teen, "Alright then, Stiles, what does she have to say about madness?"

He twisted his pencil between his fingers, brows pressed together firmly as he puzzled together a theory. He couldn't help but blame his habit of never thinking things entirely through.

After a long, silent moment, he finally offered a reply. "It's relative."

"In what way?"

"Well, Marlow's always been told how crazy Kurt is, but the more he sees him he kind of feels bad for the guy, kind of like he's a victim of circumstance. Like maybe – maybe the Company wasn't showing the whole picture."

Her eyebrows raised in response, a surprised smile tracing her lips, "That's actually a perfect description, Stiles. Glad to see you're doing the reading."

He could see Emmalyn's shoulders loosen as Ms. Blake returned to the board. Thinking back to the conversation they'd had more than two weeks ago now, something crossed his mind that hadn't before.

She had felt so small in his arms.

Sure, she'd always been shorter than him, but he felt like she might actually break if he squeezed to hard. Emmalyn had literally fallen to pieces right in front of him, the only time he'd ever seen her cry before was when they were kids and his mom had died. She had never been the quiet one, yet here she was, not even able to manage eye contact with Ms. Blake. He knew now of course that she had been bullied in the beginning of high school, so much so that she even transferred, but to what extent? How bad had it really been? The girl sitting in front of him now was a fragile shadow of the vivacious and carefree one he and Scott had grown up with, and it left him questioning.

What had really happened?

**FUN FACTS: **

**1. In the episode 'Battlefield' of season two, the championship game is against the Beavers, the team mentioned in the beginning of  
**** the chapter!  
2. All dialogue about 'Heart of Darkness' is actually about the real book! I combed through Spark Notes, kind of always figuring there was an alterior motive behind Jennifer teaching about that book, and I was right! So, I used the theme of madness as a little plot device, looking back and referencing how she never really thought she was crazy, it was all relative ;)**

**Well that's the chapter for you! Let me know what you all think. You know the drill, praise, critique, correct me! Let me know what you liked and what you're excited to see!**


	6. Chapter 6

******Wow, thanks for the support everyone! Sorry this chapter took a bit to crank out, had to figure out what exactly I wanted to do with the middle of it.**

******DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).**

After that day in English, Emmalyn continued to use the seat in front of Stiles. They still didn't talk, but it was progress. She felt safer there. Even Scott had begun to melt the ice between them, joining Stiles in passing gesture throughout the day. Things were stiffer with Scott though, more controlled. It worried her. She could always tell he was staring when she felt pricks dance down her spine. Did he know something, is that why he'd been more distant than Stiles? It grated at the back of her mind, but she had more important things to worry about.

She kept thinking back to the beginning of the month when Stiles had mentioned writing to her, even then it had thrown her. Not once in her time away had she received a letter from him or Scott. She hadn't left an address for them, they didn't give her the time and the boys would have known something was up. Through reason and deduction, she assumed they would have gone to her father with them, asking him to pass them on to her. If that were true, that would mean he had kept nearly two years worth of communication from her, and with her father's habit of jumping focus, maybe they were still somewhere in the house.

oOo

"Out of place, ridiculous, absurd."

Stiles gave him a thumbs up before moving on to the next word, "Perfect, OK next word, um...Darack. Darach...it's a noun?" Scott looked to his scrupulous friend with an exasperated sigh. "We have to talk about it sometime, OK? We're gunna be on this thing for like five hours, why not?"

Scott's forehead hit the bus window and he reveled in the temporary relief the cool glass brought to his raging temperature.

"Next word – intransigent."

"Stubborn...obstinent," he struggled to find the answer through the searing pain in his side, only to be thrown forward by the sudden jerk of the school bus.

"Woah buddy, you OK? We shouldn't have come, I knew it! We shouldn't have come."

"We had to, there's safety in numbers."

"Yeah well there's also death in numbers, OK? It's called a massacre, bloodbath, _carnage_...slaughter, butchering..."

When Stiles realized he wasn't paying attention, he knew Scott was hiding how much pain he was in. but after a quick struggle he reluctantly lifted his shirt to reveal the dark, black gashes underneath. He insisted that he wasn't healing because the wound was from an Alpha, but Stiles knew it was something more. Boyd and Issac had healed fine, why hadn't Scott? It seemed like everyone but Scott knew there was something else amiss, but he too focused on reigning in Boyd to care for his own physical state. Even with Derek's death and the possibility of it having been for nothing now that they knew Ennis had survived the fall, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to Beacon Hills. Maybe they both just needed a distraction.

"You been getting much of a read off Emma lately?"

Scott crinkled his brow at Stiles, "No more than I have been."

"Did Derek will you his uncanny knack for obscurity?"

"I just mean she hasn't felt any different from that first day. It's kind of weird, at first I thought it was just first day jitters, but she's been on constant edge for a month now."

"Well what _exactly_ are you getting off her then?"

"Didn't she ask you to give her time, dude?"

"_Technically_, but that was like almost three weeks ago."

Rubbing his forehead, Scott thought back to their friend, "It's...confusing, sometimes I'm not really sure what it is. She's anxious, like _really _anxious, and not just when Coach gets in everyone's face, like _all the time_. It's like she's always holding her breath, but then other times it's like she's about to snap. It's like I can feel it on her from across the room, sense how uncomfortable she is. It feels like my skin is crawling."

"Well that's cheery."

"Hey, you wanted to know," Scott held his hands in front of himself defensively.

"I guess I'm just getting impatient, you know? I know she's wants time or whatever, but she's our friend and it's hard to pretend like we aren't."

The two fell in to silence again until a groan slipped through Scott's lips when he shifted in his seat.

"Did you call Deaton?"

"Keep getting his voicemail."

"That's it, I'm calling Lydia and Allison."

oOo

After managing to stop the bus, by less desirable means, Stiles and Allison helped Scott into the rest stop bathroom. He had gotten worse from earlier, black veins splintering off from the large wounds in his side.

"It could be psychological."

"Wh-What do you mean, like psychosomatic?"

"Somatoformic, a physical illness from a psychogenic cause." Stiles waved his arm spasmodically, obviously not understanding where Lydia was going with this. "Ugh, yes. It's all in his head.

"It's Derek...he's not letting himself heal because Derek died."

The answer made sense to him in more than just their current situation. He felt selfish for not being focused on the friend in front of him, but what if Emmalyn was the same? Scott's wound would heal, but what about hers? He knew it wouldn't be as easy to heal the kind of wounds she had, the emotional ones teeming with desertion and alienation. He and Scott had gotten their fill of berating over the years, but they were awkward teenage boys and it had never been any worse than name calling and they had always had each other through it. Emmalyn though, she'd been alone, and even now with Stiles reaching out to her she still was. She was keeping herself away from them, fearful of repeating the past but only prolonging her suffering. She needed them and he'd given her enough time to come to them on her own. When they got back to Beacon Hills, he had to make things right.

oOo

Her father had been busy the past week setting the final wheels in motion for his next business trip, so Emmalyn knew he wouldn't be home later in the evening. Having already spent the better half of the weekend scheming and checking miscellaneous hiding spots while her father wasn't looking, her window of opportunity was closing fast. If they were going to be anywhere at this point, they were hulled up in his office. She'd checked most of the spots already, claiming she was looking for supplies she needed for a project when he found her in there the day before, so it left only one. The safe in the closet, it was where he locked all of his client's confidential information up. She'd known the combination since she was young, having found it was his favorite hiding spot for her confiscated toys. He was usually too busy to remember he hadn't returned them to her, so the password never changed.

_06-18-95_

The red light on the key pad turned green, a resounding thud signifying the door had unlatched. While the code was her birthday, she was sure the reason he used it was because it was also the day that her mother died. She was never entirely sure if he had blamed her for her death, but it was hard to hide how much happier he looked in old photos when they were standing together. His chestnut eyes shone with happiness he'd never shown in her lifetime, he'd thrown himself into his work when they lost her.

Sifting through the stacks of manila envelopes, Emmalyn's finger caught on the finger pull to the false bottom. Her toys had always been on the top shelf, so she wasn't surprised her five year old self had failed to notice its existence. She slid the files from the top of it and carefully lifted the soft, black facade, but found something other than what she was looking for. Her fingers felt cold plaster, it was a third grade craft project. She traced her own mangled handwriting. _#1 Dad_. She remembered that day, she'd made it for him because he was coming back from an extended business trip that day. He'd smiled and hugged her, thanked her for it, but quickly placed it on the kitchen counter when his phone rang. When she saw it there the next morning she'd put it on his desk, but it had disappeared after that. Underneath that, she found what she was looking for.

It was a shoe box, but it was packed to the brim. She sat there, carefully reading every letter, every moment that she'd missed with her friends. She read about how they'd made the lacrosse team like they'd always wanted, about how Coach was crazy and how Harris had it out for Stiles, how Lydia still ignored him no matter how hard he tried, and how Scott had finally gotten his girlfriend and his first heartbreak. Her eyes welled at their words, how they wrote how much they missed her all the time. Stiles wrote more than Scott later on, but he did his best to include what was going on in his life among his own details. Her body shook as tears flowed down her cheeks, but she was careful not to damage the letters.

_I miss you, more than I ever thought I would. I'm not just missing my best friend, __I  
__miss your smile and the way you would snort when I made stupid SciFi references.  
__Everything is so complicated right now and I'm doing my best to keep it __together  
for __Scott, but you were always better at it. You always knew how to make me __laugh  
when __my face was covered in mud. I miss having you here, it's like a piece of me is  
__missing, __the one piece that held me together when mom died and I don't know how to  
be that __piece on my own. I miss you, Em._

Emmalyn heard the front door creak open, her father's weary footsteps following. She grabbed the box and ran out to the hallway to meet him.

"Emma? What are you –"

"Why would you keep these from me?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, laying his jacket down on the counter, "It wasn't my choice. They told me it would cause a relapse, ruin all of the progress they made."

"No, it was your choice," she said through her tears, "but instead you hid them, took away my only connection to the two people who have cared the most about me. You know," she scoffed, "I tried so hard to make those doctors happy when they told me it could mean me finally coming home, but maybe that breakthrough wouldn't have taken _two years _if I had known there was more than an empty house to come back to!"

She threw the plaster medal to him, but as he fumbled to catch it she grabbed her keys and disappeared.

oOo

The small Toyota's engine hummed to a stop before Emmalyn made a mad dash for cover. It had started raining on her way, but she could have gotten here blind folded. Brushing her wet hair from her face, she gently pushed the doorbell.

"Emmalyn?" She looked up to the weary eyes of Sheriff Stilinski. "Oh god, you're soaked. Come in."

Emmalyn stood uncomfortably in the living room, clutching the shoe box to her before he returned with a towel. She smiled weakly to him. The Sheriff had known her back when he was only a deputy, he had been the officer on call two years ago.

"So...how are you –"

"Is Stiles home?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, he just got back from the cross country trip, he's up in his room."

Finding her way up the staircase they had used as a sleeping bag toboggan run and kids and down the hall, Emmalyn knocked lightly on Stiles' door.

"Dad, it's been a long weekend I just want to go...Em? What are you...?"

She merely held the box higher and opened it. He knew what it was.

"You kept those?"

"I just opened them."

"_All _of them?"

Nodding, she pushed past him into the room. It hadn't changed much, even picture of Scott, Stiles, and herself from the Halloween they decided to be superheroes. Scott had been the Hulk, Stiles was Spiderman, and she chose Wonderwoman. Some older kids in the neighborhood stole her bad of candy, so the boys had pooled together theirs and split it evenly among the three of them.

"Hey listen, I don't know if maybe I sounded _weird _in any of those...I wasn't really thinking much when I wrote them, so you should probably just forget –"

"Stiles?" She interrupted, earning a concerned look.

"Yeah?"

Before he could give her a 'what's up?', her arms were around his waist, head buried in his chest. "I'm sorry, sorry that I've been ignoring and avoiding you since I got back. It was stupid," she mumbled into her shirt, letting loose tears fly.

"Em hold on, you're not the one that needs to be sorry here. Me and Scott, we're the ones that are sorry, we were stupid and weren't paying attention. None of this is your fault."

Not once in the last two years had she been told that it wasn't her fault. Emmalyn gripped his shirt, reluctant to let go. No, she wouldn't let go again.

"Hey Em...do you maybe want to hang out with us at lunch tomorrow?"

**Alrighty, you know the drill, praise, critique, tell me what you liked and what you're excited to see! Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Holy cow, guys! We passed the 1,000 visitor mark on this story within the first hour of chapter 6 being posted!**

**Hope you enjoy this little installment, after this chapter you can bet that Emmalyn will start the slipper slope into the supernatural nature of Beacon Hills.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, its characters, or any affiliated entities. I maintain artistic license of my original character(s).**

_ "Hey Em...do you maybe want to hang out with us at lunch tomorrow?"_

_ Emmalyn cringed inwardly. _Lunch. _It was almost a foreign concept at this point._

_ "I – I don't know, I usually study in the –"_

_ "Library?" She looked up at him and cocked her head to the side. "Oh come on, I wasn't bugging you but I'm not blind. It'll be funnnn..."_

Unlikely.

_"I just...maybe some other time," she deflected, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and clawing at the back of her neck._

_ "Emma?"_

_ She looked back to him, her mistake. He looked down to her with the same pitiful look he'd spend their entire childhood perfecting._

_ "...Fine."_

oOo

So there she was, analytically preparing herself for what was undoubtedly her worst decision since returning.

_It's not too late, tell him something came up, _anything.

"Em, over here!" Stiles flagged her down from across the lunchroom.

_No, you can do this. You can't keep to the shadows forever._

Arming herself with what little assurance she had and made her way over. She'd spent the first half of the day and most of the night before mentally prepping herself, preselecting answers, and anticipating responses. Regardless of the years apart, she still knew Scott and Stiles. She knew what would distract them and how they'd react to most things. Emmalyn hoped her long sleeves and circle skirt were enough to detract from obvious physical changes, but even her thick knit sweater couldn't shield her from the reality she was walking into. There were four extra people at the table. Seeing her shocked expression, Stiles jumped up to break the ice.

"Oh, right! Well you've got Allison, Issac, Boyd...you remember Lydia, right?" Each person nodded in recognition as their name was called. She slid her bag off of her shoulder and sank slowly to the right of Stiles. There was a still silence across the group for a few long, unbearable moments that made anxiety creep up Emmalyn's spine.

"Well...hi. I'm Emmalyn."

Allison's face brightened across from her with a warm smile, "So how's your first month back at Beacon Hills been?"

"It was fine after everyone stopped asking questions. Allison shrunk away from her brashness and Emmalyn dug her fingernails into her palms. "Not that – no it's fine that you ask, it was just a little overwhelming all at once when I first got back."

"Oh, I totally get it. Me and my family only moved here last year, it was like being a class pet. Everyone was so crazy at first but it died down eventually."

Emmalyn nodded in silent agreement before the table fell into another silence.

"Well, I hope you're getting through the halls easier."

She craned her head to the left until her eyes fell on a familiar blonde and passed him a scrutinizing look. He tossed a crooked smile back and suddenly it hit her. Her first day back.

_"Hey," a tenor called out to her, laying a firm hand on her shoulder, "you OK?"_

He chuckled, reaching for his drink, "There you go, took long enough."

Feeling her cheeks tinge pink, she rushed for a rebuttal, "Right...sorry about that. M-my first day back was a little crazy."

He shrugged, "Don't worry, Beacon Hills was a weird place _way_ before you got here."

Scott slapped him on the shoulder and muttered something to Issac with a stern look. It made Emmalyn uncomfortable.

"Um...is everything OK?" She asked meekly, reaching into her bag. Stiles' head whipped toward her with half a fork full of spaghetti hanging from his mouth.

"Yeah, why w-is that seriously all you're going to eat?" He gestured toward the tupperware Emmalyn had just pulled from her bag. She tugged her shoulders up defensively.

"Well yeah..."

"But...it's watermelon. And grapes. That's it?"

The hair on the back of her neck rose as her cheeks burned a bright shade of red. She could feel the passing glances of everyone around the table as her hands gripped the container tighter, eyes squeezed shut fighting the urge to run.

"Obviously, don't you know anything Stiles?" Emmalyn opened her eyes and glanced across the table to Lydia. "It's better to snack throughout the day instead of _gorging _yourself," she explained, pointing her fork at the mountain of food in front of him. He redirected his attention toward the strawberry blonde.

"You girls are weird."

It wasn't Lydia's response that confused her, it was how she lied to everyone. She knew better than anyone else why that was all she was eating, and yet she covered for her, deflected the attention from her in a way that would serve as camouflage for as long as she maintained it.

It was disorienting.

This was the girl who she dared to even call a close friend until she tossed her aside on a blindsided glory trip. The girl who, for all intents and purposes, was entirely to blame for everything that had happened to Emmalyn over the past two years. So that begged the question, why? Why had she been so quick to her side? Was it guilt? It had already been strange enough to see her socializing with this particular group, she'd always been horrendously selective and spent the bulk of her life purposefully ignoring Stiles. Emmalyn knew that she must have taken a serious fall from grace to end up here. All the same, Lydia seemed _happy_ with that?

The rest of the lunch period passed without much more interaction on her part. She wasn't sure if it was her overwhelmingly obvious discomfort that kept her from being the subject of conversation or that she was the odd man out in a group that was clearly close knit, but either way she didn't mind. Watching as the bunch of teens carelessly joked with each other, she mindlessly popped pieces of the watery fruits in her mouth. Originally she'd hoped she wouldn't have to pull out the food she'd packed, but it had become painfully clear to her that her lack of food would have been conspicuous. Of course, she had planned ahead for this, being mindful to not only pack water based fruit but to use a large container. The size of the tupperware made her portioning less noticeable.

The entire situation was odd, it was strange to see how life just...went on. Emmalyn had felt like she was trapped for the past two years. Trapped in the same place, trapped in her own body, stagnating, withering away. Yet, here in front of her was the perfect example of how things were not always as you thought they would be. Everyone was moving through life full speed ahead and here she was trying to turn off the parking break. She felt confused, repressed, the air in her lungs felt like it was thinning.

"I have to get to the guidance office," she said jolting from her seat.

"Ms. Morrell? Why?" Suddenly the attention of the entire table was turned back to her. They were too curious.

"Just – just a check in, see how I'm adjusting, you know? I've got to get going."

The eyes of everyone in the group followed her as she hurried out of the lunchroom. It was a difficult place for them to be in. They knew Ms. Morrell was involved with the Alpha Pack but at the same time she was the guidance counselor, a teacher. There wasn't much they could do about it without reason, so they held back. Mostly.

"Lydia don't, we can't do anything about her until we know more," Allison warned her. They were already at a stark disadvantage to the Alphas. They needed to be strategic, calculating in every move they made.

"Oh please, I'm not going harass to Ms. Morrell, I've spent enough time in that office already," she insisted, running her hands down the front of her dress in an effort to straighten it out. "I just realized I left my Physics book in my last class."

Stiles eyed her distrustfully, "We have Chemistry this semester."

"Hm, cute. So now I'm the one you don't trust?"

"Oh come on, Stiles, she was reading a book on Thermodynamics in my car the other day," Allison insisted.

"Well," Lydia sighed, tossig her hair over her shoulders, "I'll see you guys next period. In Chemistry." She purposefully slowed her pronunciation of 'Chemistry' and glared at Stiles. He rolled his eyes in response.

It wasn't a lie, more of a half truth. She didn't have any intention of confronting Ms. Morrell, and she always had her Physics book in her purse. She was walking after Emmalyn.

oOo

She shouldn't have left as early as she did, or she could have at least ducked into a bathroom to wait out the time left before her scheduled session. Ms. Morrell was still in with her previous appointment and now Emmalyn was sitting out in the hallway exposed, vulnerable, and within perfect hearing range of the familiar click of wedge heels and determination. She held her knees up to her chest, rested her head on them, and asked herself,

_Why._

Playing blissfully unaware, she keep her head down even when she heard someone land on the floor next to her. She wasn't prepared to deal with this right now. It worked for a few minutes, but she should have known the girl was a ticking time bomb.

"Well are you going to look up or am I going to talk to the other side of the hallway?"

Groaning, Emmalyn lifted her head, "What do you want, Lydia?"

She seemed shocked a her willingness to talk, so it took her a moment to respond, "Listen, I didn't mean to act like that the first day, and I'm not here to make some giant spectacle of you. I'm here to say I'm sorry. I don't expect you to trust me or to come over tonight to paint each others nails, but I owe you an apology at the very least. I did some terrible, terrible things to you, Emmalyn, and I know the situations are different but I've had some pretty crazy stuff happen to me over the last year that made me realize a lot. What happened to me has a lot to do with problems I created for myself, but I had people there for me...even if I didn't want them to be at first. Having them there helped me through a lot, and I know you didn't have that and I _know _that's my fault, but don't let the awful things I did keep you from letting them back in. All they've done for the last month is worry about you, don't let them sit on it, OK?"

"Why'd you do it?" Lydia looked back to Emmalyn with wide eyes. "We – we were friends, Lydia. Everything..._everything_ was _your_ idea."

Again, it took a moment for her to respond. It was something Lydia had spent a long time coming to terms with, "...I was jealous."

Emmalyn laughed, mocking her, "Right, Lydia Martin jealous of _anything_."

"It's not a joke. I did all that for you because I wanted to help. You were so _happy, _Emma, but then school started. I got to school and saw the way that everyone was looking at you and I was so satisfied, I thought to myself, 'I made that', but then it changed. I heard the things people were saying and _really _saw how everyone was looking at you when I realized that they weren't looking at me anymore. I had always been the 'it' girl, and just like that it was like I passed the baton and my time was over. It was the beginning of high school, my time should have just been beginning. I thought that if I gave you that, that meant I could take it away, so I did. I did whatever I had to to claw my way up to the top where I knew I belonged and it was great when I got there, but then I realized how shallow and superficial it all was. I couldn't stay myself if I wanted to stay on top, and when I realized that I'd rather be who I am with just one person who knows me than with a hundred who are just waiting for me to fall...you were gone."

"Well, be happy that you were right about one thing. You took it, you took _everything_." Emmalyn spat out her words like venom, rising from the floor as Ms. Morrell signaled that it was her time to come in, "Welcome to the bottom."

**There you go! I'm really excited to get going on the next chapter, because really, who thinks that all of these people disappearing and turning up ritually sacrificed is normal?**

You know the drill, drop me a review with praise, critique, or correction. Let me know what you liked and what you're excited to see come!


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